


buttercup yellow

by peachsneakers



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling, Don't use Undertale as a reference guide, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Poisoning, Prinxiety - Freeform, Self-Harm, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 13:37:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20175154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachsneakers/pseuds/peachsneakers
Summary: Virgil's curiosity leads him into trouble.





	buttercup yellow

**Author's Note:**

> idk why i felt inspired to write another story but here goes

_This is so dumb,_ Virgil thinks, staring down into his cupped hands. They bloom with buttercups, tiny innocuous blossoms that hide a wealth of promised pain. He knows what they do. They're poisonous to humans and he has to think that means for sides, too. He can't die, but he can still get sick. He can still hurt. 

It won't be as dramatic as Chara Dreemurr's suicide plan, but he doesn't live in a video game like Undertale. He doesn't mind that. He just wants to...punish himself. _Needs_ to punish himself. When he lived with the others, Deceit would try to stop him, or come up with harm reduction plans. He'd hide the kitchen knives, or blunt the edges of sharp corners.

Patton hides the knives. He knows that much about Virgil's self-destruction, although Virgil hates it. But this... His hands tremble. This is something different. But he _has_ to.

Before he can stop himself, he lifts both hands to his mouth and pours the buttercups inside.

They're bitter. He notices that straight off, the bitterness welling on his tongue and bringing tears to his eyes. The imagination stills around him, as if even this presumably tranquil scene wants to turn aside. He doesn't know why he's doing this here- yes, he does. This is the only place he can find buttercup flowers. He chews the shreds of petals as best as he could, feeling tiny pulses of pain well up in his throat.

_Fuck, that hurts,_ Virgil thinks muzzily, sinking down into the buttercup patch. His mouth is on fire, like he's decided to drink a cup of acid.

"Virgil?" A faraway shout, laced with concern. Virgil curls up in a tight ball, pinpoints of concentrated agony flaring to life in his stomach. He doesn't know if this is what would happen in a real world human, but it _hurts_ regardless.

"Virgil, where are you?" Roman's calling him, and Virgil winces. His boyfriend's not supposed to see him like this, he didn't mean to spend this much time in the imagination. His breathing speeds up, harsh and raspy in his own ears, but breathing makes his throat hurt worse.

_I don't know what to do,_ Virgil thinks, terrified. _I can't_-

"Virgil?!"

Virgil looks up through tear-blurred eyes at the reassuringly solid figure of his boyfriend leaning over him before he blacks out, sprawling limply in the flowers.

He wakes up slowly. His mouth still hurts, but it feels softer now. Farther away. He can hear the snap and crackle of a fire somewhere nearby, and then he realizes he's lying on something soft and warm.

"Virgil?" Roman asks softly, hesitant. Virgil reluctantly opens his eyes. "Here-" Roman says, proffering a cup of water. "Sip it slowly. Deceit said it would help." Virgil's confusion must have shown in his face because Roman continues. "He's the one who told me to get you. He- he says he saw what you did, but couldn't stop you in time."

_Oh._ Virgil looks into the depths of the cup, as if he can find some kind of answer in the clear depths. The liquid is soothing on his abused throat. From looking around, he can tell that he's in one of Roman's cabins stationed around the imagination. It has everything and anything Roman can conjure up.

"Why?" Roman asks, his voice breaking in the middle of the single syllable. "Did I- did I do something wrong? Please, tell me if I did, I'll fix it, I swear."

"No, you're fine," Virgil says hoarsely. "You didn't do anything, Roman. It's me."

"What's wrong?" Roman quietly asks. "Please, Virgil." He fumbles around, finally clasping Virgil's free hand between both of his own. "I'm your partner, I love you. I want to help you. Please let me help you."

"I didn't think it'd mess me up that bad," Virgil admits, his face flushing. "I uh- well, hell, you know Patton locks up the knives sometimes-" Roman nods. "Same...principle, I guess? I just... I punish myself sometimes. Or it calms me down, in a weird way. Deceit- he used to lock the knives up, too, or he'd figure out how I could do it without _really_ hurting myself, like I wanted to. I'm sorry, I didn't-" He stops, his voice catching. Roman helps him sip more water, carding sweaty purple locks free of Virgil's damp forehead.

"Storm cloud, you don't have to apologize," Roman says. His voice is so gentle, Virgil wants to cry. "I admit that I- well, I don't understand self-harm, but I _do_ understand self-hatred. You aren't alone. I never want you to feel alone."

"I know I'm not," Virgil whispers, his voice wobbly. "Thank you." 

"Deceit helped me nurse you," Roman says, changing the subject. "But he said you'd probably feel bad for a little while yet. Do you want to go back to the commons or-"

"No!" Virgil blurts out, reddening when Roman looks at him in surprise. "Uh...can we just stay here? And cuddle, maybe?"

A smile slowly dawns on Roman's face, revealing his dimples.

"Scoot over," he says. "Of course we can."


End file.
